


MATHLETES

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Castles, Existentialism, F/F, F/M, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra Shiro (Voltron), Gay, Grecian Matt Holt, Grecian Pidge, Haggar has the hots for Allura, Light BDSM, Lotor is ???, M/M, Magic, Plot Twists, Romance, Season 3 Spoilers, Smut, Spaceships, The blue lion is a cat, klance, math nerds, possibly, sadness and despair, unhealthy relationship, use of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dear Diary,I've been to a few other planets before, each with their own striking features, but I've gotta say, I love Altea the mostThe sands and the fire and the rays of light and the double sunrises and the flowers and the mountainsand the creeks and grass--- I'm horrible at descriptions, diary, but let me tell you, this planet is as gorgeous as Keith's fa-QUIZNACKI wasn't going to say anything about him looking goodHe's such a prickBut he's hotOh noI gotta go





	1. Contempt for the Salesman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lotor get their groove on, and SHR-10 has an unusual obsession with grass. One of Keith's classmates might also be slightly insane.

**AN/ Well, this should be fun. Curse-words, plot twists, magic, homophobia, racism, complexity, character development, and gay kissing all lie ahead; be careful not to step on them. In addition, I do not encourage that you pursue a relationship like Keith and Lotor's, as it is very, hopefully obviously, dysfunctional. It won't last for very long, considering... things, will happen... also, apparently Lotor’s design has been released, you should check it out:<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SQtUw-ZYIU0> **

Space was so vast.

There was an immeasurable number of stars, planets, and people drifting through its hands, coming and going, while it remained the one constant of reality. If it had a consciousness, what would it think of the violence its clutches contained?

Keith reached towards his window, pressing purple fingers against the tide of enigma weighing down upon their tiny space-bus, and breathed against the glass. The window grew cloudy.

The second largest war against planets had ended two feebs ago; only two feebs, and already, he was on his way to meet a people he had first been impassive to, then grown to like, and then grown to fear. The bloodbath of his childhood had inhibited him from forming a clear opinion regarding the Alteans, but he remembered what their planet looked like. The suns were brighter there. Landscapes of soft green grass and piercing blue streaks of color graced his eyes when he had visited once at the age of three.

He had even gone to a jointed-school with some Alteans for a few feebs before the war started, not that he remembered much about any of them. He had had more important things on his mind, for instance, how he was going to survive without the care of anybody but himself.

Now, the planets were attempting to paint a picture of harmony with an academic competition hosted by Altea, a planet which had lost its leader in the war; dragging the best of the best from every inhabited chunk of rock in the galaxy to fight, not with weapons, but with the brains of their youths.

...Keith thought it was kind of a little too soon, if not counterproductive, to be having competitions again, but, as the top of his class, he didn't have a say in the matter. He was forced to attend regardless of his opinion, and blamed his lack of a voice on the stupidity of his government.

"Hey, dog-face."

Speak of the government and he shall appear. Keith narrowed his eyes at Lotor, not daring to give him the satisfaction of catching Keith off guard. Lotor was the Emperor's son, and had been given immediate leave to attend this "incredible" scholastic competition, despite not doing well in any class that didn't revolve around the death of the Galra's "enemies," or physical education. 

Not that that mattered, of course, because if Zarkon's own heir didn't appear to be the most intelligent of his peers, the empire would crumble under the realization that their worthless pride was unfounded.

Keith raised a questioning eyebrow in Lotor’s direction, before glancing down at the paper on his own lap, coated with numbers. If Keith appeared to be occupied, Lotor might get the hint and leave him the quiznak alone. 

"Excuse me?" Lotor asked, snapping his princely lilac fingers in front of Keith's nose. It took all of Keith's mental willpower not to bite them off.

"Kogane, I'm talking to you."

Keith forced himself to make eye contact with Lotor, body draped in intimidating crimson robes, and face adorned by his silvery white hair. There certainly wasn't a lack of effort put into making Lotor look like he deserved the crown, but no matter what clothes he wore, or how handsome he was, or how many times public press was forced to lie about him, he would always be a pathetic nobody on the inside.

"Can I help you?" Keith asked, wincing at the sound of his voice, which conveyed his mood almost perfectly. Irritation flashed in Lotor's eyes at the question, digging his claws into the side of the seat next to Keith's.

"Meet me in the storage compartment, _hybrid,_ " he spat, gesturing for Keith to move. Keith sighed. He had expected this to happen at one point or another. Actually, he was somewhat surprised that they'd been in empty space for nearly three vargas already without any conflict.

"Let me guess, if I don't get up, you'll have me executed?" Keith drawled, tone lacking any hint of the fright that Lotor used to strike in him. Nine years of encounters with the bumptious elitist had left him somewhat apathetic to persecution.

"Don't mock me, or I might go through with that threat," Lotor warned, grabbing Keith's bag from the overhead storage and tossing it into the aisle. Keith's eyes widened, and he bared his teeth in the prince's direction. He had important things in there, like, family photo important.

"Your father may be a ruthless tyrant, but he wouldn't kill somebody with actual merit just because his oaf of a son asked him to," Keith hissed, standing up and twitching his ears. He pushed past Lotor as he crawled out of his seat, then turned to face the heir of Zarkon, finding the snarl on his own face reflected by Lotor's.

"I bet you don't even know the basics of mathematics," Keith added, malcontent radiating off of him in waves as powerful as quintessence.  Lotor smirked, shaking his head, and placed a ring-encrusted hand on Keith's shoulder.

"I know that if you take a family of three, and subtract two parents, you're left with one, worthless, kitten, with a mouth too big for his own good," he said, grinning as Keith produced the intended reaction, eyes coating over with anger and swatting his hand away.

“At least fucking carry my bag for me," Keith snapped dejectedly. He was pretty much immune to whatever comments his peers could come up with to try to ridicule his parentage; he’d heard them so many times before.

Mouth quirking upwards in an arrogant smile, Lotor effortlessly tugged the strap onto his shoulder.

“Consider yourself lucky,” he quipped, flipping his hair over his shoulders for show. Keith scoffed, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. He knew that, despite his general dislike of being questioned, Lotor immensely enjoyed Keith’s defiance; and the sooner this was over with, the better.

As was the fashion, Keith avoided eye contact with any of the other high-bred, self-important Galras in the aisles of the bus, and kept his head down as he trudged through his death march behind Lotor.

“What? No ‘go to the gladiators, Lotor?’” Lotor asked as they reached one of the mechanical doors that lead to the most isolated area of the ship. Keith stuck his thumb between his pointer and middle fingers, a non-verbal way of communicating his hatred.

Lotor feigned insult, pressing his palm to his chest and sighing dramatically. “Aw, you’re such a brat. You’ve made me _so_ angry.” He wiggled his pristine eyebrows, and Keith held in a laugh.

“Hurry up and override the security already,” he hissed, grabbing on to Lotor’s sleeve and glancing through the hall to check for witnesses. Even if anybody saw them, however, they would probably assume that Lotor was about to beat Keith into oblivion (though, Keith would rather nobody saw regardless.)

Lotor shed his rings, and forced his hand onto the essence-recognizing door-lock to the right of the entrance. Using his princely status, encoded in his _threcata_ , his individual life’s blueprints, Lotor easily conquered whatever security measures were defending the luggage of the group, and tugged Keith along into the dark space.

“You know what happens to whiny rebels, don’t you?” Lotor asked, gently closing the door; trapping himself, Keith, and the dimensional-cubes used for storage, in the almost stardense black room.

“Please enlighten me,” Keith riposted, rolling his eyes at Lotor’s theatrical spiel. He always liked to build up to the moment; as a consequence, Keith had heard the same “I’m powerful, bow to me, submit, blah, blah, etc.” speech about four-hundred times.

Lotor scrunched up his eyebrows in irritation. “Would you shut up and let me talk for _one_ tick, hybrid?” he asked. Keith snorted.

“And prevent you from getting a hard-on every time I so much as open my mouth?” he questioned, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

The prince’s lip curled up in a snarl. “We’re going to do things differently this time, Kogane.” Before Keith could ask him just what he meant, Lotor surged forward and grabbed both of Keith’s wrists, pinning them to the wall. It was then that Keith noticed the metal bracelets wrapped under the robes of the purple menace’s attire. He recognized their design as the types of laser-cuffs used to detain prisoners.

“Don’t even think about-“he warned, wincing as Lotor cut him off mid-sentence to fuse his hands to the wall. The prince smirked triumphantly,

“I’m sorry, what was that?” he asked, seeming to take enjoyment in Keith’s struggling.

“Like hell you didn’t hear me, Lotor. If you wanted to try something new, did you really think the space-bus was the best place to try it on me?” he spat. “Let me go, or I’ll,” he started, pressing himself back further against the wall as Lotor stepped forwards.

“You’ll what? You’re the weakest Galra in the galaxy, Keith. I could destroy you myself if I really wanted to,” the prince taunted, wickedly flashing his teeth. Keith was blinded by the sudden flash of rage that always found its way into his psyche, no matter how many breathing techniques, training sessions, or karaoke-nights in the shower he had gone through in an attempt to keep it at bay. All he could think about was Lotor's insensitive smile and malicious eyes, the way he had targeted Keith from the moment they had met, and the way he paraded his position around like he was better than everybody else.

He clenched his fist into a ball and urged himself forward with all of his might, kissing Lotor harshly across his stupid smiling lips, biting at him with an angry desperation. Lotor quickly reciprocated, curling his claws into the back of Keith’s head and tugging him further into his body.

“Do you want to test that theory?” Keith panted, lowering his head to nip across Lotor’s neck.

“I’ve got you pinned against a wall, desperate for me, and completely weaponless. You don’t have a chance, hybrid,” he whispered, rubbing circles across Keith’s shoulders, back, and arms, watching the lightly colored areas flush indigo with fascination.

“Winning isn’t always about who’s the strongest. If we were having a battle of the wits, I’d beat you by a decaleer,” Keith declared, parting only momentarily from Lotor’s neck. The prince halted his gentle touches and slammed his hand across the shorter boy’s chest, shoving his knee in between his legs.

“You and I both know our relationship has nothing to do with wits,” Lotor whispered. His yellow eyes were a dark, needy, amber.  

He reached down to kiss Keith once again, sighing contentedly when Keith parted his lips and let him in.

 

/////

 

Keith walked back alone, dragging his bag along behind him.

He guessed that the bus had been cruising for about six vargas, which would leave him with enough time to find SHR-10, his bunk-partner, and sort through their schedules for the next few quintants.  

Unfortunately for his plans, when Keith was about mid-bus, a leg was thrust out in front of him, one which he only barely managed to step over.

PYP-38, the owner of the ugly appendage, and one of Keith's many enemies, offered an innocent smile as she pretended to be looking in the opposite direction. “Oh, heya, hybrid, didn’t see you there, you’re so short,” she mocked, retracting her leg.

Keith stared blandly at her for a few ticks, mutely questioning her seated logic(uh, he was taller than her when he was standing and she was sitting???), before continuing on his quest. He hoped to the stars she would ignore him. He didn't want to have to deal with the attention a fight would bring; he didn't want to _fight_  at all. If everybody except for SHR-10 and Lotor were to begin ignoring him, he would be incredibly happy.

Speaking of which...

Keith kept walking, not taking a chance to look back behind him. SHR-10 should have been somewhere around the front of the bus, being of a higher rank than most other young Galras.

He had been called to the fight when the drafting age was lowered, and had fought valiantly in the short time allotted to him... but like many others, he had lost something that once made him whole; he had lost both his naivety, and his right arm.

It was partially because of SHR-10's plight that Keith defiantly considered himself a pacifist to the core. Despite his wild and unpredictable outbursts, he had known since he was as small as a fichus plant that war and violence reaped no real benefits. They were always outweighed by the aching hole left behind to sit and fester; unable to be banished, unable to be hidden, and growing until it bared the fruit of the same hellish cycle, over, and over, and over again.

Keith froze as he heard the hard click of his footsteps interrupted by rougher, faster, thumps. 

“Hey, hybrid, didn’t your _mater_   ever teach you manners?” PYP-38’s scratchy voice taunted, having stood up to chase after Keith while he was lost in thought. Keith shrugged awkwardly, unsure of himself. He really had no idea why this female was following him, unless she was just in the mood to taunt somebody weaker than her. That would suck for Keith. 

“Oh, wait,” she said, gripping him by the back of his neck to spin him around. “Ya don’t have one.” She towered over him, her meaty arms holding him in a deadly position against her chest. Keith struggled, but he knew it was futile; she could probably lift five Keiths in one arm. 

"Leave me alone," he snapped, loudly enough for a few Galras to lift their heads. _Very helpful._ Keith closed his eyes and prepared for the worst. 

"You stop that," someone said, and before Keith could take the time to effectively translate the meaning of those words, PYP-38 let him and a high-pitched scream escape her. 

Keith fell to the ground. He found himself sprawled across the floor, legs sticking awkwardly out to the side. Keith briefly wondered when the last time it had been cleaned was, then propped his arms up in front of himself, lilac eyes glancing up at two foreign-looking officer’s boots stationed before his nose.

"What's going on here?" the feet asked, and as Keith glanced up, he could see a helmeted officer shifting his eyes from Keith, to PYP-38, and back again. PYP-38 had a look of terror across her face.

“The hybrid attacked me for no reason, so I had to defend myself!” she stammered, raising her arms in a cross-like pattern. Keith scowled, wrath bubbling in his single stomach, a rare side-effect of his Hybrid lineage, and tunneling out of his mouth before he could bite his tongue.

“If walking away from _your_ hideous face is an attack, I’m surprised the entire bus isn’t in a fist-fight right now!” he snarled. 

She sneered, and he imagined lunging forwards with his claws extracted, short fur standing on the edge of his last ounce of control, ripping her apart as she apologized for everything she’d ever done. If just for one moment, Keith could make her regret years of torment, years of  _this,_ he would be overjoyed. 

"You're an idiot," she yelled. "If you just disappeared, none of this would have happened." Keith stepped closer to her, eyebrows furrowed beyond their normal capacity. 

"You want _me_ to disappear?" Keith laughed bitterly. "Imagine how I feel about you!"

As she lunged forwards, foaming at the mouth, Keith lifted a fist and braced himself, ready to strike.

“Woah, woah, _no,_ we’re not doing that,” the soldier said, yanking Keith’s arms away from PYP-38, causing her to crash into the wall, and reaching in his belt for something; Keith wasn’t sure of what. He hoped it wasn’t a gun.

“Were either of you told that this was supposed to be a peaceful convention?” the soldier asked, hip cocked out to the side.  

“We can’t have Galras fighting before they even get there. You should both be ashamed in yourselves,” he lectured, pulling out a piece of paper and pencil for _the_   _stars know_  what purpose. Keith wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out; to be subjected yet again to the blame for something he had never wanted a part in. 

Face growing violet, he stood up and made a respectful departing hand gesture, then ran as quickly as he could to the back of the space-bus to brood, or read, or both; anything to get away from the discomfiture prancing through the aisles.

He snuggled himself into the furthest seat away possible and pulled his hood over his head, ears facing down in shame. His lack of emotional control was something he wasn't proud of. Ever since... Ever since he had been young, he had been so easily riled up. He was practically emotional putty in the hands of those who engaged psychological warfare as their tool against him; losing sight of the big picture and lashing out in a vehement showcase of his inner turmoil. Even Galra like PYP-38 didn't deserve to be punched in the face just because Keith didn't like what they said.

Well, actually, she totally deserved that.

It just wasn't up to Keith to be the person who enforced that type of punishment; that was a job best left to soldiers like the one he had just ditched. Keith’s actions made him look insane; reinforcing every Galra’s negative perception of him, and he knew it.

"Hey, universe, you wanna help me out?" he asked quietly, glancing once again out the window at the countless lights guiding the pilots to Altea. Maybe they could point  _him_  in the right direction too, for once.

"Hey, Keith? You know I'm Shiro, right? I didn’t mean to scare you, like, at all, and if I did, I’m so sorry, and I was actually looking for you anyways… " a voice prodded from his side. Keith tilted his head to see the same soldier from before; this time, he wore no helmet, and peculiarly familiar mismatched hair graced his forehead.

"You didn’t think to tell me when you knocked me onto the floor?” Keith questioned. SHR-10 brushed the comment aside and plopped down next to Keith.

“If Pyper had known who I was, she wouldn’t have been as terrified when I gave her a ticket and a good talking to,” he said, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder. It was the warm one.

“A ‘talking to?’” Keith asked, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly, like they always did when SHR-10 was with him.

 SHR-10 was the closest thing that he had to a friend, mostly as a consequence of SHR-10’s persistent kindness, and years of being paired together for assignments in their early youth.

Although later on Keith had been sorted into the class bred for studying, and SHR-10 into the fighter class, they had remained roomed together, and had remained closely bonded throughout their treacherous excuses for childhoods.

“You know what I meant, Keith. I told her she was being rude, and that she was a disappointment to our emperor, and, all that stuff about misbehaving on a mission,” SHR-10 said, grinning with a surprising amount of deviousness in his eyes. He reached for his bag, a small satchel, and pulled out a small bundle of wires; known as a techweb.

SHR-10 spread it across his lap, and Keith watched in amazement as light bounced from wire to wire, opening a visual screen that could display practically anything its user wanted it to. Keith commonly had to work with techwebs during his educational training, but they never grew mundane to look at.

Closing unusual videos about grass that were lingering on his screen from previous use(what?), SHR-10 opened a link that led to their worldwide board of scholastic activities.

“A ‘talking to’ is a group of words that hasn’t been in common use for at least three decafeebs, Shiro. Have you been wafting through my old-speech scrolls again?” Keith asked suspiciously. Keith was allowed to bring articles back to his dorm from the library, but those who were in the fighter class weren’t permitted entry to the building, as it was seen as a distraction from their missions. If there was one thing that Keith was grateful for, despite not being with SHR-10 as often as he could, it was that reading was encouraged for his small intellectual class.

SHR-10 shot a teasing smile at the smaller half-Galra, nebula-yellow eyes boring into Keith’s own unusually purple ones.

 “Maybe I have been. If it helps, I promise to never use that phrase again if you can promise to try to keep calm around Pyper. She’s not worth it, okay?”  He held Keith's gaze for a moment longer, and Keith nodded.

Satisfied, SHR-10 clicked on another colorful button on the screen of the techweb. His friendly disposition quickly dissipated as he became immersed in finding the pages pertaining to his and Keith’s ventures through Altea. He looked so... focused. Keith noted something that felt a bit like admiration as he watched SHR-10 type away.

Keith tried looking out the window again, waiting for SHR-10 to find what he was looking for. He tried to be patient. He tried…

...to subtly lean over SHR-10's shoulder and see what was on the screen. To no avail, he fell over and hit his head on SHR-10's shoulder, producing what sounded like a metallic bang.

SHR-10 shot him another friendly smile, and shifted the screen over so Keith could observe it, sending Keith's face into a shade of purple two shades darker than it had been before, embarrassed by the notion that he had been caught.

"Want to see yours first?” SHR-10 asked, voice oozing with sincerity. Keith covered his mouth and nodded nonchalantly. Though Keith was anxious to be prepared for the trip, he didn’t really care what his schedule was like as long as it wasn’t completely absurd.

"They have you registered as ‘HYB-01,’ right?" he asked, raising his eyebrow in a show of hesitant concern, like he was still worried that he might insult Keith just by mentioning his hybrid status.

 Keith nodded again. Perhaps, if he nodded enough, the awkwardness would roll out of his head.

SHR-10 scrolled through the list of names until he found Keith’s.

"Here you go," SHR-10 said. "Looks like you're paired up with..." He paused, glancing at Keith with an expression of surprise written across his features.

Keith gulped, anxiety increasing by a decafold as he read the title next to his own name. His forehead crinkled, his pulse rushed, and he gaped at SHR-10 in disbelief.

"This is a mistake,” he managed to say. “They wouldn’t pair me with him.”

Shiro shook his head sympathetically, feigning a relaxed smile. "I'm sorry, Keith, maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe nobody will care?"

Keith nodded, but this time the action was empty of feeling. He had never even thought that this was a possible scenario, out of all of the insane things that could happen to him. This was _big_ ; bigger than him, an insignificant hybrid. This would pull him out of hiding, this would put him on the spot; this had the potential to break his entire world. Everybody would know who he was because of this. 

"This is crazy, it... It has to be an error, they wouldn't pair me with the prince," he repeated, trembling in his seat.

“They wouldn’t pair me with _Lance d’Altor.”_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS FOR READING; this is my first fanfiction, so I've been rather confused about how to pace everything and set up intriguing chapters, but I think I've got it down..? (maybe) 
> 
> Vocabulary used in story that probably isn't familiar to you:  
> Tick-Second  
> Dobash-Minute  
> Varga- Hour  
> Quintant- Day  
> Feeb- Year  
> "Go to the gladiators"- Kind of like "go to hell" for Galras because of the massive gladiator fights that take place in their culture  
> "Dog-Face"- the best way to insult a cat  
> Threcata- DNA  
> "Stardense black"-pitch black  
> Decaleer-distance similar to a ten thousand miles  
> Leer- one thousand miles  
> Quiznack- can be used in the place of "fuck," but does not hold nearly as much weight
> 
> Mater-Galran word for "mother"
> 
> The written names of the Galras involve a three letter code based on location, time, body shape, and order of classification, but most Galras go by a slightly individualized name. Keith has a classification, but, as a hybrid, it was given to him after he was discovered as a child, and his written name is "Keith Kogane;" allowed to him because of his half-human status.
> 
> Also, Lance's last name, and the last names of all of the Alteans, are chosen by the combination of their father's first name with the name of whatever region of Altea they hail from. Because Lance is royalty, he is d'(from) Altea itself, so his last name is "d' Altor," or "from Altea and Alfor." If Lance ever has children, they will have the last name of "d'Altence."  
> ...Or, uh... "d'Altogane," if we're considering his options for possible spouses.


	2. Contempt for the Abnormal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance is a hopeless romantic who needs to prioritize. Also, ~magic~ *jazz hands*

**I'm really sorry if I didn't do justice to the Alteans; if you notice anybody being OC, just tell me. (Like a good neighbor, I'll fix my writing~) Also, I'd like to hear your thoughts on the story so far; leave a comment below!**

"Get your lazy tail off of me," Lance whined, pushing his cat off of the bed. So much for the luxury of a palace bedroom; he'd woken up in the early hours to mouthfuls of fur a countless number of times.

Bluevetica hissed at him from her comfortable position on the floor. He hissed back.

"Don't get sassy with me, princess," he warned, stretching his arms behind his head. Groaning at the popping noise released by each of his vertebrae, he peered to the side, through his curtains, where the light of the second sun was breaching the first degree of sky above the mountains of the kingdom of Altea.

  His home. His people. Even though he would never be responsible for every action or breath taken like his sister was, he still felt a connection to the beings darting to and fro on the planet of magic, shape-shifting, and falling fire.

“Look at what you’ve done, Blue. I’m awake, and now I’ll _never_ go back to sleep _again._ You’ve ruined my life,” he declared, kicking off the covers with a vehement gusto. His room had become flooded with pink and gold hues, much like the frosting on a cake.

“I might as well go bother Allura,” he decided, yawning derisively. “Maybe I’ll get some cake, too. See you later, my precious demon baby.” Bluevetica ignored him.

Not even bothering to change out of his royal pajamas, which consisted of an open robe and striped trousers, Lance quickly ran through his morning regiment, and slipped out the door.

Allura was bound to be awake by now; she had spent the past thirty quintants preparing for the Planets United convention, barely taking any time to rest. Lance was worried about her wellbeing. She was draining every ounce of power in herself just to keep Altea running.

 Neither of them had been the same since their father had fallen, but Allura had definitely taken the brunt of the tragedy. She was the healer of the family after all, and that was what their planet had needed most after the war. As the new queen of the planet, Allura was always occupied, always straining herself, and had already begun to develop wrinkles that shouldn’t have appeared until at least three decafeebs later.

Seeing her like that had made it clear to Lance that, however horrible he felt, he had to be there to help her through it, because she had it much worse than he did.

“What's up, my female relation?” he greeted as he entered the hub of the castle, shouting over the sound of water rushing out of fountains on either side of the room. Allura was in the center of the vast space, typing away at letters and symbols drifting across the control pad. Papers were scattered across the floor around her, some words marked brightly, others crumpled beyond readable measures. She herself was in a simple black skinsuit, hair pulled into a bun behind her head. It appeared that she hadn’t even noticed him.

“’Lura?” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth. She didn’t even flinch. Lance trudged across the room, stomping as loudly as he could. 

When he reached her, still totally oblivious, he halted, a mischievous plan making its way into his head. Grinning at the spontaneous brilliance of his newfound idea, he lifted his hand, beckoning the water from the fountains to make their way across the room, spiraling in a jet-like pattern through the air.

Like most native Alteans, Lance possessed the ability to connect to a particular aspect of nature and use it to his advantage. Many believed the Alteans had this power because of their close connection to their planet, and their heightened awareness of its needs and energy. Lance wasn’t sure about that; it’s not like he himself had had some sort of divine chat with the spirits of water about appreciation or conservation before he was gifted with his powers; they had just come to him naturally.

With a quick flick of his wrist, a stream of water squirted at Allura from the side, causing her, finally, to snap up from her workload, jumping away and producing a screeching noise. She spun around, bloodshot eyes searching frantically for the culprit of the attack.

When she saw Lance standing in front of her, she swiftly shut the control panel off, and stepped in front of it as though to shield it from the floating liquid. Her tired mouth shifted into a frown, unimpressed by his prank.

 “Lance! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, taking in his cheerful demeanor.

“I came to check on you. And to get cake,” he responded. She raised a brow, and he stuck his hands in the air in a sign of surrender “But mostly to check on you, really!”]

Allura sighed, but a small smile graced her face. “I’m sorry I’ve been the cause of such concern, Lance. I promise to you that I am well,” she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She glanced down at the floor, before hesitantly extending her arms for a hug. Lance complied, wrapping his own arms tightly around her steady frame. Lance was ready to give her whatever she needed; that’s what family was for.

“I’ve been so busy,” she said. “But we’re so close now, Lance. We’ll finally have everything this planet deserves. Everything father would have wanted for us,” she breathed, squeezing him tightly. When they pulled apart, she had a set look of determination on her face; he recognized it as her unwavering battle mask, a sure sign that she would succeed at whatever she set out to do.

“You think this convention will pull the planets together again?” he asked. Allura bit her lip, probably running through scenarios in her head. Just as she was about to speak, the royal adviser Coran barged into the room, his assisting inventor Mr. Holt trailing behind him.

“Princess, I'm glad I caught you alone." Lance coughed loudly. 

"Or, well, with Lance," Coran continued. "I'm still worried about this whole thing. The convention certainly is important, but…” he paused again, perhaps afraid to blatantly disrespect something she had worked so hard to put together. “Aren’t you afraid that one of the visiting alien species might attack us? What if the Galras or the Miscels try to hurt us when we accept their entry with open arms? We can’t trust them, Allura, not yet,” he blurted, letting ease some of the most major concerns he had garnered, though he had already brought his up at least forty times, by Lance's count. 

Allura crossed her arms, stepping forwards with all of the regality a queen was expected to showcase. “I’ve already assured you plenty of times that I have everything under control, Coran. Besides, we can’t back out _now._ The first competition takes place in two quintants!”

It was at this moment that Lance blanked out, as he usually did when conversation became super political or businessy(was that even a word?). It wasn’t that he didn’t understand their professional banter, it was that they usually repeated the same thing over again, just in different ways. It was so... boring, and tedious, and pointless, or, at least, to Lance. And, anyways, he had daydreams of high importance waiting to be thought of; like how he and Hunk were going to manage to get past the guards when the alien ships started arriving.

 He had put together a grandiose plot to greet the foreign females before they could find out who he was. Ever the romantic, he imagined meeting the alien of his dreams, a being who would love him for who he was, instead of for his position of royalty. They would appreciate skin care, good music, and comedy just as much as he did; they would go on walks with him through the garden as they gently held his hand, smiling perfectly, in amazement, as he poured his all into loving them, and being with them. And they would be warm, huggable, and good at kissing and-

“Lance, are you listening?” Mr. Holt asked. Everybody had turned to face him, each with a patient smile aimed in his direction.

“Oh, yeah, no,” he responded, fiddling with the sleeve of his robe. “Sorry, did you guys say something important?”

Allura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just go study for the maths competition, Lance,” she said, fidgeting with her necklace, something Lance hadn’t noticed before. It was ruby red, which kind of clashed with that whole natural white-healing-mage-angel-of-grace-radiance she had going on. 

“Okay, sis, see you in the AI chamber after lunch?” he asked.

One aspect of their relationship that hadn’t been disturbed by the upcoming convention was their frequent visits to the artificially preserved memories of their father, King Alfor. It wasn’t anything close to actually being with him again, but it was something to hold on to. And his memories were so expansive that the sibling pair learned something new almost every time they saw him.

Allura graced him with an assuring smile.

“I’ll see you later, Lance.”

///

“Huuunk,” Lance drawled, leaning his body against that of his best friend’s. Hunk was the chef’s son, but had become so prominent a figure in the kitchen that he was granted a position as Lance’s personal chef many feebs ago. More importantly than that, however, was that he was Lance’s “super best buddy for all of eternity until forever because it was never gonna stop,” or “S.B.B.F.A.E.U.F.B.W.N.G.S.” for short( Lance had come up with the term all on his own when he was about just four feebs old, and had been quite proud of it at the time.)

“Lance, I’m your friend, and as your friend, I have to be honest with you,” Hunk said, gently peeling Lance off of his side. “Your plan sucks. It’s terrible. We’re never going to get out of the castle, and your sister will be really mad at us. _You._ She’ll be mad at _you,_ ” he continued. He was plastered with a thin layer of anxious sweat, despite having not done anything yet. “She’ll be mad at y _ou,_ because I’m not going.”

Lance groaned. While Hunk’s cautious nature was usually appreciated, it sometimes got in the way of the other Altean's ability to just _enjoy_ himself; always worried about something. 

“Relax, buddy, it’ll work. There’s no way they’ll be manually checking the castle’s air vents at two in the morning. All you have to do is temporarily disable the security system, and we’re out of here!” he urged. It wasn’t like it would take that long, or like if they were caught, they’d experience the same terrible consequences that any other Altean would.

“I don’t know, Lance. It can’t be _that_ easy to break out of a palace,” Hunk said, nervously twiddling his thumbs. The poor guy was emitting waves of insecurity.

“Oh, come on! I believe in you, Hunk.” he cheered, patting Hunk on the back. “If anyone can get through Mr. Holt’s defenses, it’s you.”

Hunk directed an uneasy smile towards Lance, and Lance suddenly felt a wave of guilt pass through him.

“But, well, I mean, if you really don’t want to, that’s okay, I have a backup plan,” Lance splurged. “I was thinking I could disguise myself as a cake and sneak out while they were delivering food to the floating colosseum, then jump out like...” He paused to make a gesture with his hands. “’woosh,’ and then, I’ll smell like frosting, and, uh…”

Hunk grinned. “You just came up with that, didn’t you?”

Lance shrugged in response. “I had cake on my mind. My improvisational skills are commendable, though, right?” he asked, shooting a wink towards the young cook. Hunk’s large shoulders bounced up and down with a rumbling laugh.

“Okay, Lance, I’ll go with you. But if we’re caught, I’m blaming you,” he declared, fishing around in his work belt for some sort of tool. Along with being exceptional at preparing food, Hunk had an interest in the technological workings of the planet, and had invested quite a bit of time with the palace’s royal inventor, Samuel Holt, learning how this and that worked, and how to repair the many machines that kept the castle running.

Hunk was very talented. 

Lance was just glad they were friends. 

 

///

 

“You ready, Hunk? My rock, my friend, my-“

“I get it, Lance, please shut up now,” Hunk whispered, fiddling with the entrance to the tiny chambers that circulated throughout the entire palace. “The guards should be coming through this hall soon, so we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Okay,” Lance responded, checking the hall once again for the presence of another Altean. “But did you know that my skin looks great in this lighting? Like, I don’t know how I never notice before, but… Uh,” he trailed off as Hunk sent another, maybe the fifth, glare at him. He sealed his lips and settled with pacing around nervously, watching Hunk loosen the seals and pull the vent cover off.

“You go first, Lance,” Hunk urged, shifting his gaze through the hall. “I’ll probably be slower than you, so you should be in front in case we hit a road block, or something.”

Lance nodded, crawling into the empty space without a hint of reserve. Cold metal met his fingertips as he squirmed through the tunnels, the route he needed to travel by sketched roughly on his arms. A thump sounded behind him, indicating Hunk’s presence, and he continued forwards, not daring to press their luck by lingering. Hunk had set the system to shut down for thirty dobashes, but there was a chance that it could flicker back on at any tick.

As he continued through the chilly passage, he relayed his plan a few times in his head. First, he and Hunk would escape through the air vents. Then, they would board one of the small vessels that was delivering cargo to the air colosseum, the humongous hovering ship on which the convention was being hosted. After they landed, they would change into the uniforms worn by the ship attendants, and run to greet the newest group of arrivals.

 If all went well, Lance would be flying back down with an alien girlfriend before the competitions even began.

If all went well, he thought, this convention would be one of the best things that’d ever happened to him.

 ///

Their descent into the atmosphere was so smooth that Keith wouldn’t have noticed if SHR-10 hadn’t woken him up with a gentle nudge, eagerly pointing at the sight of two bright stars shedding their lights across the heavily vegetated planet. Silvery trees banded together in forests around the churning rivers of the surface, and fields of flowers stood out like patches of solar systems gracing the universe. It was beautiful; the kind of thing that Keith had rarely ever seen outside of picture-books. He was surprised, however, that SHR-10 was so enamored by the scene set below them.

“Haven’t you been to hundreds of different planets before?” he asked, almost more interested in the way SHR-10’s smile lit up his entire face than in the way the blue streaks of color lit up the land belonging to the aliens they were on their way to visit.

“That was different, Keith. This time, I know I won’t have to take away from the beauty of the planet I’m viewing,” he said, fidgeting in his seat. Keith pursed his lips almost immediately, to keep himself from saying something even more accidentally insulting than what he’d just let slip out. Ever since SHR-10 had come back, the topic of what he had been forced to do was avoided between them, though he wanted badly to help SHR-10 in whatever way he could.

“You get it, right?” SHR-10 asked. “Yeah, I get it, Shiro,” Keith responded, turning to look out the window once more. It was surprisingly easy to imagine the world underneath him burning at the whim of creatures like himself; he felt a surge of relief at having not been called to fight. He was always telling SHR-10 that it wasn’t fair that the Galra Empire expected Keith to fill a role that he found tedious, and that being a part of the fighting class must have been much more exciting, but he had bitten his words in regret after he saw what had happened to those in SHR-10’s profession.

Keith nearly jumped out of his seat when a voice blared from the overhead speakers, announcing twenty dobashes until they were released onto the ridiculously large air colosseum that would serve as an arena for the competitions, a banquet hall for the convention, a boarding facility for all alien ships, and a recreational vehicle on the side. Keith was fairly skeptical of the safety of such a ship; would it not be more practical to host this convention on the planet itself?

“Keith, do you have everything packed and ready to go?” SHR-10 asked. Keith gave him a thumbs up in response.

 SHR-10 had this annoying habit of hovering over Keith’s every action, like he couldn’t handle himself. It was endearing that somebody cared enough about him to watch him that closely, but suffocating all the while, and Keith sometimes found himself guiltily abandoning SHR-10 when he wanted the liberty to make decisions, though perhaps not the wisest, for himself.

Such as his relationship with Lotor.

“Why don’t you double check? You wouldn’t want to lose anything important,” SHR-10 reprimanded him, opening his own bag as if to make an example for Keith.

“Shiro, I haven’t taken anything out of my bag besides my training worksheet and a graphite stick,” he groaned, waving both objects in the air. SHR-10 shrugged innocently before zipping his satchel closed.

“Do you remember how to get to our room?” SHR-10 asked. Sighing in defeat, Keith yielded. Maybe if he let SHR-10 explain, he would stop pestering him for a tick.

“No, I’ve, uh, mysteriously forgotten,” he drawled, glancing once again out the window. Strangely light clouds glowed around the space-bus, illuminating brightly its durable wings.

As SHR-10 explained how to maneuver through the colosseum once again, Keith silently repeated to himself numerical sequences he had spent vargas memorizing. These next few quintants were going to be a hassle, with SHR-10’s consistent worrying, surrounded by thousands of beings, familiar and foreign, and with his planet depending upon him to get a few math problems right, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Or, at least, so he hoped.

“-Oh, and, then, when you and Lance rule Altea together, you’ll be the most spectacular couple in the galaxy,” SHR-10 announced loudly, fluttering his eyelashes, and snapping Keith completely out of his trance.

“What?” he asked, pulse quickening in ambivalence. SHR-10 snorted, and stretched an arm behind Keith’s neck, like a pillow.

“Just checking to see if you were still awake over there on planet ‘pretend you’re listening to Shiro,’” SHR-10 jabbed, laughing softly as Keith pulled his ears down in embarrassment. SHR-10’s brow creased, “You know, if you really are still tired, you can use my arm as a resting device.”

“Go to the gladiators, Shiro,” Keith bit, folding his arms. “Being partnered with this… ‘Prince Lance’ character is one of the worst things that could have escalated from this trip.” SHR-10 frowned, ever the optimistic type, and grabbed Keith's hand. 

"Hey, I know you're scared that this will make you even more infamous among your Galra peers, but maybe it could be good for you, Keith. Maybe they'll start to respect you because of this," he encouraged. Easy for him to say- he 'd never been subjected to hatred by every Galra on the planet save for a singular friend. 

"That's barely a possibility, and it's one that will only occur if I _win_. What if I don't?" Keith asked, voice scratchy with fear. "What if I lose to the Prince of _freaking_ Altea? Do you have any idea what they'd do to me here?" It was unspoken between them, but both Keith and SHR-10 knew that the only reason Keith was still alive was because he did well in school. If he suddenly lost his academic potential, he'd be much worse than bullied. He'd be dead. 

"You're wrong, Keith. The empire is changing; the Galra mindset is changing," SHR-10 declared, squeezing Keith's hand tightly. "And if anybody tries to hurt you, they'll have to get through _me_ first. I don't plan on letting that happen any time soon." He looked so determined, so sincere, that Keith couldn't help but want to believe him. 

Keith smiled, something rare except in the presence of SHR-10, and squeezed back. SHR-10 closed his eyes and laughed. "Besides," he said. "Nobody's going to hurt you when you're Keith d'Altor, right?" Keith groaned, shoving SHR-10 away. 

"Would you please let that go? It wasn't funny the first time," he said, suddenly feeling inclined to scoot as far away from the giggling SHR-10 as possible. 

"Sorry, sorry, but it feels like we don't get happy moments very often these days," SHR-10 coughed out. "And, anyways, I was totally serious. I think you'd be a good couple. I've met him before, you know, on a diplomatic trip. He's not a bad guy." Keith raised a dark eyebrow. 

"Please stop talking about this." 

///

"Sorry Lance, I can't just 'stop rambling;' we're, like, less than a nanoleer away from getting caught," Hunk whispered hurriedly. Concern laced his features, but that wouldn't be enough to convince Lance to stop now. They were almost there. 

"We're also less than a nanoleer away from succeeding, Hunk. We've just got to focus, buddy," he responded, grabbing Hunk's sleeve and pulling him across the hall. Hunk ran along behind him grudgingly. The sound of their breaths went in time with the patter of unanimous footsteps from nearby Altean soldiers. 

"Why do I ever agree to any of your plans?" Hunk asked, adjusting the uniform he had stolen- _borrowed,_ he reminded himself- from a storage facility near the hangars. It was a tight fit, but it would suffice. 

"Because they're great, and you love me?" Lance asked. Hunk sighed, unable to deny that it was true. 

"Okay, listen, Lance, when that next round of guides marches down the hall, we're gonna join in. They should take us to the new arrivals, and you'll be able to meet some girls there, I guess," Hunk directed, checking both corridors for activity. Lance nodded, and made a bunch of other hand gestures that made no sense, but Hunk figured that it probably meant something like, "Okay, thanks, I'm awesome, your food is good, and I think they're coming soon, so I'll blend in on one side, and you'll get the other." 

Shadows began to bounce off of the wall around the corner as the group neared their hiding place. As the first few Alteans walked past them, Hunk nudged across the wall and stepped into the lower ranks of the mass. Lance followed behind him shortly, both of them paying mind to keep their heads down. 

They walked on discretely, passing through white hallways and a few random shops, recreational devises increasing in number as they neared the terminal where new ships would be arriving. Hunk marveled at the foolish brilliance of Lance's plan. They were actually doing it. They were here. As impossible as it had seemed, Lance was going to succeed in finding a few foreign alien girls to traumatize and Hunk was going to be given "best friend of the feeb" award. 

Again. But, hey, maybe he'd meet some cool aliens too. He'd never really traveled much outside the capital, never mind other planets. Maybe he'd find some people who knew how to cook, and he could learn some new things about the customs of other planets. He wondered what they were like; the people they'd been fighting so hard to defeat. He was just glad it was finally over. 

The group halted, apparently having reached their destination, a large room with blue walls and small hangars where ships could fly in stationed closely together. Hunk instantly began to search for Lance. He was standing by a sign that listed the arriving spaceships.

"So, when's the next ship getting here?" Hunk asked, trudging to stand besides his friend. Lance had his hand on his chin, and was humming softly to himself. Suddenly, his face lit up, and he spun around to look at Hunk.

 _"Four_ vehicles are gonna be here, Hunk, do you know what that means?" he practically screeched. Bits of water droplets rose around his head, spinning in almost a crown-like pattern. Hunk marveled at his ability to so casually utilize his gift of kinesis; Hunk was not so comfortable with his own terraforming magic. His connection to the planet was nowhere near as ornate or disciplined as Lance's eased control of water. 

"Lance, calm down, you're going to attract attention," Hunk urged, swatting at the flecks of liquid in the air. Lance looked up at them, and they immediately fell to the ground. He sighed. 

"Sorry, man. I'm just, kind of nervous too? I mean, obviously, not for the same reasons, but... This is kind of a one-shot thing. I don't want to mess up," Lance confessed. Hunk smiled, and grabbed Lance by the shoulders, dragging him into a hug. It was fair enough, considering how often Lance was dragging Hunk into things.

"Lance, you know that this isn't your only chance at finding love, right? There are plenty of beings out there that would fly out to space just to be with you," Hunk said. Lance shook his head, and sighed again. 

"You don't get it, and that's okay, but... I'm not interested in any of the girls back home. And not just because they're Altean. It's because they know who I am, what I am, and what I can do. They know I'm a prince, and they respect and revere me too much to ever honestly love me. I don't want to be in a relationship like that. I want something real." Lance pulled away; his blue eyes shone with a misplaced hope. 

"Lance, I encourage real love, I really do, and I support you, totally, but not everybody on Altea is like that. Don't ever doubt somebody's feelings just because you think that they aren't capable of loving you. You're super lovable, trust me," Hunk said, voice down to a whisper once again. Hunk could have sworn Lance was about to cry, and began to point it out, when the sound of gigantic metal doors opening overwhelmed the room. 

Huge metal aircraft on all sides of the hall swarmed into their respective chambers, the hiss of airlocks slithered out from behind them. Surprisingly tiny in comparison to their own ships, the foreign vehicles skated along iron tracks that lead to platforms all around the hall. When they began to click into place, a grinning Lance caught Hunk's eyes, before running off to wait in front of the nearest one. Hunk followed after him, feeling as much a babysitter as a friend. 

The ships began to open, one by one, until foreigners from all over the galaxy piled out into the hangar. The ship they were in front of released a group of tall, brightly colored aliens, with long appendages sticking out of their heads like hair. Hunk was filled with a sense of fascination at the aliens he'd never even thought about before. How many living beings just like him were spread through the tides of space?

Lance was enraptured by one of them in particular; a pretty, yellow female that Hunk couldn't help but feel suspicious towards. What? It was his best friend he was thinking about, here. Lance jogged up to her and stuck out his hand, a gesture of greeting. 

"Hey there, stranger. The name's, uh..." he looked back to Hunk. Hunk shrugged. "...Gregarioberto. I'm here to help you out, if you know what I mean?" He shot his best finger guns; the alien stared at him blankly. 

"I'm Nyma, and my bags are in seat 4-R, if you know what I mean," she said, glancing down at her nails. Lance smiled sheepishly, either unaware that he was being mocked, or trying as hard as he could to ignore it. 

"Let's go, Greg," Hunk said, shooting a glare in Nyma's direction. Lance narrowed his brows determinedly, waving his hands through the air. "No, no, I'll get her bags for her. That's my job, right?" he asked; Hunk couldn't help but notice that his voice cracked every other syllable. This huge, bright, vehement, quest had been darkened in an instant; a sun coated over with thunderclouds. Lance's naive hopes and dreams being taken advantage of was worse, for Hunk, than the idea of getting caught by Altean soldiers. He would have rather been lectured by Allura than watch Lance do this to himself. 

"No, it's not..." he began, stepping in front of Nyma, who was still focused on her fingers, seemingly disinterested in their conversation. He moved to grab Lance's sleeve, but was swatted away as Lance's attention shifted from Nyma to somebody behind Hunk. Lance froze in place; only his chest, propelling the occasional puff of air from his lips, was moving. 

"Oh my stars," Lance whispered. His cheek marks were glowing, and his eyes were as wide as teladov-crystal spheres. "What is it?" Hunk asked. But he got no response; Lance was in some sort of trance like state. Suddenly, Lance took off, leaving Hunk and Nyma alone on the platform.

Hunk could barely make out the prince's words as he raced across the room towards a group of Galra students, quietly chatting with each other: 

"I'd recognize that mullet anywhere!"

 

 


	3. Contempt for the Vicarious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Keith was a preteen he was super self-absorbed; Lance has a secret diary in which he expressed his innermost thoughts. Pidge is out for blood(and maybe cake too, if Lance has any to spare.)

**AN/ *screams***

 

This was it; this place, just another trial for Keith to survive, was finally close enough to exist outside of the abstract corners of Keith's frequent ventures into the imagined aspects of reality. It was frightening, somewhat, though now Keith was un-phased by that particular emotion, to be here, with his boots on the warm plastic of the entrance chamber's expansive floor, observing the poorly thought out color scheme of the ship; SHR-10 by his side. In other words, it was real, and happening, and Keith was surprised by how unprepared he felt for the win-lose scenario he had been tossed into.

He let his eyes drift around the bustle of creatures surrounding him, not focusing on any individual aspect of the ship, as it was fairly standard sans the clashing palate(were Alteans color blind? red and blue never went well together, especially not in stripes.) Nothing stuck out as especially dangerous, but the mundane landscape only brought Keith further into a state of discomfiture. He kind of felt like grabbing SHR-10 and running to the nearest dormitory to hide under a sleeping-cloth and read about better times that he would never be a part of.

But he couldn't, so he stood stiffly next to SHR-10 as the soldier chatted politely with another Galra, imagining in what ways(for their were like, thousands of possibilities, really) he could design the room to a more picturesque aesthetic. He swept his gaze over the hangar, squinting at irregular lines and mismatching shades. The northern side of the room was somewhat better, with less cringe-worthy facets of red and blue streaking together in sync above a statue of the king. He glanced towards the East the hall, where a large group of aliens were standing.

Keith squinted again, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the bright light of the double suns shining through the windows. Something wasn't right; some sort of commotion seemed to be taking place in the crowd on the opposite side of the floor. Keith hoped there wasn't some sort of emergency, or something.

He tried to refocused his attention to SHR-10's conversation, which was, admittedly very boring, and shifted his weight from on ball of his foot to another. This trip wouldn't be so horrible. Keith wouldn't be crushed under the humiliation of losing a widely publicized match against the prince of Altea and then being ostracized by his fellow Galras and finally condemned to death for his uselessness. Keith wouldn't embarrass himself in front of the entire accumulation of planets across the galaxy. Keith wouldn't disappoint SHR-10 and lose the only family he had. Keith could handle this. Maybe.

A sudden tap on Keith's shoulder sent jolts traveling down his spine, and his head lurching upwards. A man donning a foreign uniform which stuck rather nicely to his dark brown skin stood imposingly in front of Keith. His mouth was drawn childishly into a frown, as though he were attempting to keep from grinning or laughing with glee, and his eyes... his eyes... to the gladiators with Keith's extensive vocabulary, his eyes sparkled, alright?

"Can... Can I help you?" Keith asked cautiously, unsure of what to make of the creature in front of him. The way in which he carried himself with a straight back and sharp couture was reminiscent of the high-blood Galras of imperial ships. But his uniform was worn by many other creatures on the ship, Keith noted, and no arriving ship emitted a group that looked quite like him; the boy must've been an Altean. Keith thought that his bodily structure looked familiar; the pointed ears, dark skin, shockingly white hair, and lighted teal triangles.

The possible Altean shook his head condescendingly, and leaned forwards to drape an arm across Keith's shoulder. Keith scowled at the man, attempting to ignore the lightly toned build of the offending limb.

"Keith, Keith, buddy, don't you remember me?" the boy asked, using his free arm to place a hand across his heart(well, at least, that's where Keith thought the heart might be. The guy was foreign, however, and Keith couldn't be sure of his anatomy.)

Keith poised a brow, glancing over at SHR-10, who was still engrossed in discussing alternate realities, and slowly lifted his eyes to make contact with the stranger's blue irises."Should I?" he asked. Suddenly, panic washed over him. "Am I in trouble? Are you a guard here?"

The stranger visibly pouted(pouted!), seemingly unsatisfied by this response. "Heck yeah you're in trouble, Keithy-boy! How could you forget your old school rival? How could you forget me?!" he questioned loudly, attracting the attention of a few passerby aliens. Keith had decided that he had reached his physical contact limit for the day, and harshly shrugged the stranger's attractive appendage of off his shoulders.

"Who are you?" he asked, crossing his arms. The boy in front of him grinned(did he always change moods this quickly?) and placed his hands on his hips.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he riposted.  Gladiators- Keith had only talked to this person for a few dobashes and he already hated him.

"Yeah," Keith said, stepping forwards. "That's why I asked." The boy's face fell, and he took a step back, creating a gap between them equidistant to that of their first encounter's.

"Do you really not remember me?" the stranger asked; eyes clouding over with... disappointment? Keith shook his head; he didn't remember this Altean at all, and he was sure that, with a face like his, the boy in front of him would be hard to forget. Then again, Keith hadn't really been paying too much attention to his classmates at the time, and the jointed Galra-Altean academy (The Garrison) had been disbanded only a few feebs after he had began attending. But... still, if he were really rivals with the Altean stranger, he would probably be able to recall such an occurrence.

"No, I don't. Are you sure that..." he paused, carefully observing the stranger's features, hoping he didn't become even more depressed. "Are you sure that you've got the right Keith?" The stranger shot him an "are you serious" eyebrow raise and sighed exasperatedly.

"Your name is Keith Kogane, you attended the Garrison for three vargas, you're a half-breed, I think, of Galra and something else, you were exactly two crystals high when I last saw you, your grade-point average was perfect, you were a depressing emo-loner, and you liked to empty your canteen sack of everything but the dessert and then eat only the dessert as your meal, which, obviously, you don't do anymore, because you are incredibly lean, and, uh," the Altean paused, glancing uncertainly at Keith. Keith felt... something.

"How... why, do you know all of that?" he asked, side-stepping hesitantly towards SHR-10. The Altean quickly changed face, rolling his eyes at Keith.

"I told you already, Keith. We were rivals. We competed at everything! I mean, come on. Of course I was going to know a little bit about you. And, besides, my memory is perfect, anyways, so, yeah," he gushed, pursing his lips near the end of each sentence. Keith had no idea what he was talking about, but he seemed so sure of himself that Keith almost wanted to believe him.

He looked over at SHR-10, who'd relocated himself near a sign of some sort. He took that moment to question his choice in allies; were he attacked right now, SHR-10 would be totally oblivious to it. Keith could die, and SHR-10 would still be wondering whether or not he liked fruit in another universe.

Keith sighed dejectedly."What's your name, then?" he asked, hoping that his tone was completely coated with suspicion, and not with, say, acceptance. The Altean froze, face growing lightly red(that was weird; he'd have to research what that color meant.)

"Uh, my name. Yes, I have one," the stranger said, coughing into one of his hands. Keith once again raised an eyebrow(his forehead was getting quite the work-out.)

"Okay," he said, unfolding his arms. "What is it?"

The Altean boy shifted uncomfortably in his place. "Gregarioberto. That's my name." He averted his eyes and ran a dark hand through his short light hair.

"Are all Altean names that complicated?" Keith asked, cursing his sparked curiosity. His intuition screamed to run away from the incredibly conspicuous figure, but his questioning mind whispered that he should stay and find out more about the boy and his culture. After all, that was one of the reasons why nations were assimilated together after all this time; to learn more about each other, and to strive to be more open-minded.

"No, not really. You can call me Greg, if you want..." Gregarioberto's eyes widened, and he produced a shriek of high frequency. "No! Wait, that's not the least bit dashing. Call me, uh, 'Berto.' No! Ugh." He squatted onto the floor, pondering over his own abbreviated name. His legs supported him rather well, Keith noted (for future reference on Altean anatomy, duh.)

"Does it really matter?" Keith asked, bending down slightly to address the floored Altean. Gregarioberto lifted his head, both pointed ears and cheeks dusted with red, and nodded his head vehemently.

"You wound me, Keithy-boy. Of course it matters! We're rivals, or, at least, we were, and, oh no," Gregarioberto paused, his head creaking sideways towards the other side of the room. "I totally abandoned my friend, and my quest, and... quiznack! This is all your fault!" he shouted, standing up and dusting imaginary dirt off of his pants. "I'll be back, Keithy-boy. That's a promise!" He darted in the direction of his stare without so much as another word to Keith, leaving Keith with an unlimited number of questions and a lingering feeling that this trip to Altea might not be exactly what he made it out to be.

"Shiro?" he called, walking towards his friend, wondering what exactly had just transpired. One question stood out predominantly in his mind, burning across his vision in an angry pattern of accusations:

What the heck kind of nickname was 'Keithy-boy?'

 

 

////

 

Pidge was alone in the hall.

Good.

She needed to be alone if she was going to survive in this trap of a spaceship. She was so close; after all these years of searching. She was finally going to go home; far away from Altea, the Galra empire, the Balmiras, and every other crazy alien society out there. She and Matt were going to get through this if it was the last thing they did.

But it wouldn't be. 

Pidge was going to take them down.

She was going to get her father back.

 

**////**

 

Lance plopped down on his comfortable bed with a heavy sigh, wistfully stroking along the spine of his diary. Oh, how miserable was he after that adventure into the colosseum. Not a single alien was willing to talk with him; him, the Prince of Altea! Was he really that worthless when without his title? He was beginning to think so.

_Dear Diary,_

_Life sucks._

_I'm the prince of this planet, so everybody caters to me and stuff, but..._

_Well, a quintant ago, I disguised myself as a common palace guard, and helped foreign aliens get to their rooms and move their things to places. But none of them liked me at all. Was I doing something wrong?_

_Hunk and Allura love me, but that's different..._

_That's obligation._

_I just want to know if I'm a likable Altean. Is that too much to ask?_

_Or maybe I already got my answer. I mean, Keith Kogane, who you've heard, uh, a lot, about, so to say, didn't even remember me. Maybe I was just- just imagining that we were... no. What a quiznacking jerk! And to top it all off, he had to be all cute and cat-like and blushy and awkward. He's all... grown up and stuff now. UUGUUGUGUGHGHGHGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH_

_QUIZNACK_

_Diary, diary, I told him I'd be back. Like, nooooooooo!!!!_

_That was a total mistake_

_I didn't mean it_

_I'm just; sometimes, my impenetrable shield of amazingness glitches for a tick and I say something stupid like "I'll be back"_

_...to a Galra who doesn't remember me and used to be my rival and maybe I liked him but_

_NOOOO_

_NOOOO_

_NOOOO_

_..._

_I'm sorry for crying on you, diary._

_I'm just,_

_I'm just kind of emotional these days. Not that I ever wasn't? But,_

_Still_

_Dad's gone, and Allura's all crazy stressed, and Coran got a grey hair, and Mr.Holt seems anxious all the time, and Hunk's worried about the future, and_

_OHHHH_

_I forgot about the competition_

_I forget about everything gosh darn it_

_THERE'S A COMPETITION_

_AAHHHH_

_I'm, like, in it?_

_Don't get me wrong, I enjoy maths a lot, and I'm not stupid or anything_

_But_

_I don't know_

_AND KEITH'S GONNA BE THERE_

_I mean, just because I was smooth with my old rival when I met him all grown and stuff for the first time in feebs,_

_Doesn't mean I'll be able to do it again_

_He has super high standards_

_I'm gonna knock him off his feet_

_In a non-romantic way_

_DOn/'t klook at me lk this diry HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM_

_I hate the world_

_But it's lovely_

_UGGHH_

_I should sleep before the plumbing explodes again. I can hear water churning behind the walls_

_I really need to get my magic under control_

_Allura's powers have been incredibly massive since she was like, two,_

_And I'm strong and cool and all, but I've got a lot to live up to_

_She's this incredible healer who can repair anything_

_She glows with this white light that's all pure and_

_And I can fling water in the air_

_Well, I can make it rain water and I can manipulate ice and feed plants and stuff but that's kind of boring_

_I wonder what type of powers Keith would have if he was an Altean?_

_NNOOOOO I'M NOT THNKING ABOUT HIM_

_SIGH sigh SIGH_

_Well I guess I have to, cuz I'm going to see him again eventually_

_I said I would, and I'm a man of my word_

_Yeah, I'm way more awesome than him_

_Maybe I could flood his room?_

_No, that's mean_

_But he's mean?_

_But I'm not_

_But I am_

_UGGGHH_

_I'll just, like, tell him there's a meeting or something_

_Yeah, that'll work_

_I'll see him, but I won't have to do anything with him really_

_I can't believe that after QUINTANTS of bonding, he doesn't even remember me. Ouch._

_But maybe that's a good thing? I can work with this/_

_And maybe when I talk to him, I'll meet a cute, unsuspecting alien on the way_

_Hunk says I'm too obsessed with love, but I don't agree. I think that relationships,_

_platonic, familial, romantic, etc. are the most important aspects of a being's life._

_After all, our personalities are just other beings' perceptions of us. Our thoughts_

_don't matter if they're never expressed our shared. Living alone would be one_

_of the worst condemnations in the universe; you would never be able to be anything because_

_it'd be like you never existed. Besides! Every individual has an entirely different_

_perspective from your own. You learn something new every time you talk to somebody._

_I don't know what I'd do if-_

_QUIZNACK_

_I need to study_

_/I'm gonna study_

_And possibly eat a lot of junk food_

_OH LOOK OUT THE WINDOW THE SUNS LOOK SUPERBLY FANTASTIC RIGHT NOW_

_I've been to a few other planets before, each with their own striking features,_

_but I've gotta say, I love this place the most_

_The sands and the fire and the rays of light and the double sunrises and the flowers and the mountains_

_and the creeks and grass--- I'm horrible at descriptions, diary, but let me tell you, this_

_planet is as gorgeous as Keith's-_

_QUIZNACK_

_I wasn't going to say anything about him looking good_

_He's such a prick_

_But he's hot_

_Oh no_

_I gotta go_

_Life is amazing,_

_WITH LOVE FROM LLAAAANNNCEEE (smiley-face)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I APPRECIATE feedback. Let me know what you think of the story thus far. I'm not particularly familiar with this style of writing or publishing or romancing but,  
> well, I tried. 
> 
> If you have any questions about the universe the characters live in, let me know; I need to know if I'm explaining this place well enough. Thanks!


	4. Contempt for the Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance needn't worry about finding ways to seek Keith out because the duo is forced to have a bonding moment in a tightly enclosed space; meanwhile, the ship's power is going haywire, and Allura needs a therapist.

**AN/ These two have no idea what their futures hold for them.**

 

Keith’s memories were filled to the brim with regrets; for instance, when he was eight feebs old, he’d kicked prince Lotor in the shin(that didn’t turn out well); when he was ten, he’d temporarily escaped the institute(a failure, obviously); and by the time he was twelve, he’d moved on to committing acts of arson(perhaps he shouldn’t have burned the prince’s favorite stuffed toy, but it was entirely worth it… at the time, anyways.)

In the present, though, Keith was dreadfully beginning to realize, that, once again, his rash decision-making had gotten the better of him; he now had “following a strange Altean with an equally strange name out of your foreign dormitory and trusting that he won’t get the both of you trapped in an elevator” to add to his list of past mistakes.

With this new-found weight upon his shoulders, Keith shifted uncomfortably in his corner of the suffocating space; and tried his best to avoid acknowledging the insane alien besides him. He had no real idea why he hadn’t slammed the door in Gregarioberto’s stupid, suspicious, grinning face when he had the chance. The Altean was completely annoying, and although he had apologized four times already, Keith doubted that he really cared one way or another. He seemed _way_ too comfortable with their situation; Greg was just sitting there, humming some dumb song with a goofy light in his eyes and an innocent breath about him and his hair curled around his rectangular ears and- no, Keith was _not_ staring at him.

Keith sat still, attempting to control his diaphragm so that he made the least amount of noise possible, and brooded about miscellaneous grievances; until Greg finally broke the delicate silence, standing up, and coughing loudly enough to evoke a wince. He turned until he was looking directly at Keith(although both males were avoiding eye-contact), and paused for a few ticks before finally speaking.

“So…” Greg said, drawing out the vowel( as if that would add more meaning to his irrelevant diction.) Keith would’ve raised an eyebrow were he not so frustrated, but instead, because he was almost ready to scream at this point, he opted for narrowing his eyes in a menacing glare.

“Wow, you must be fun at parties,” Greg continued, adding an irritating chuckle at the end of his sentence. Wincing ever-so-slightly(out of self-embarrassment, most likely), the tan alien ran a few fingers through his short muddy locks, opening his mouth to speak once again; although, Keith really wished he would just stop. “Are you always this exciting?”

Keith stood up, face-to-face with the not-so-intimidatingly taller being, and jabbed a finger towards the supposed “guard’s” chest; cheeks heating up with purple anger. “Do you _seriously_ expect me to have some sort of social with you while we rot away in an elevator that _you_ got us stuck in?” Greg winced again, slowly lifting his hands up in surrender, but Keith wasn’t finished. “You told me you were going to direct me to the freaking assembly chamber for a _mandatory_ pre-contest lecture from higher-up officers, but you haven’t even mentioned it once since we got here! Are you even really an Altean _guard?”_

Gregarioberto backed away cautiously, a weak smile spreading across his sweaty face, and stared at the flickering light-fixtures above them. “So, uh, you _do_ talk,” he said lamely. Keith resisted the urge to throw something at the boy; was Greg _insane?_ Keith saw his faith in the belief that not all life-forms were inconsiderate dog-faces slowly slip away with each word Gregarioberto spat out.

He turned around, biting his lip in concealed disappointment, and maliciously crossed his arms. He could feel Greg’s bright blue eyes on his back, but he didn’t care; he just wanted to go study or read or punch a robot… or something…. 

“Okay, okay, listen, Keithy-boy,” Greg gushed rapidly, and Keith could’ve sworn the humidity level of the chamber had raised by at least twenty percent as Greg talked, if he were not so sure that he was just growing more discontented with the heat after being stuffed in a box with a whimsical Altean for two vargas. “Just because I’m not actually a guard, and there wasn’t actually a mandatory lecture, and we’re locked in this elevator, doesn’t mean you have to act all crazy-mad all of the sudden. I’m just as stuck as you are, and… and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in here with _you_ of all beings either, anyway _._ ”

Keith curled his fingers into a fist and bared his teeth; shaking in disbelief. “How conceited could you possibly be? This isn’t about who we’re stuck with, it’s about…” he trailed off, not really sure if there was actually a point to all of his rambling. “No, you lied to me; of course I’d be mad at you.” Keith closed his eyes, struggling to keep himself from exploding. “The way I’m acting is justified, which is more than I can say for you,” he spat out, barely a whisper, but loud enough so that Greg still seemed to hear him.

Keith half-expected Greg to raise his arm in retaliation; or to yell back at him; or at least to show his anger through some form of expression; but Greg, like the unusual creature he was, simply laughed softly at Keith’s venomous words.

He lifted his clawless index finger and pressed it against Keith’s cheek, using his other hand to cover his own mouth, stifling whatever laughter was to follow his random bout of giggles. “You should see your face,” Greg managed between unprofessional snorts. “I think that’s the darkest shade of purple I’ve ever seen.”

Keith growled internally, or maybe out-loud; he wasn’t keeping track. “What is your problem? We could _die_ in this elevator, at least try to manage this conversation with some sort of level of seriousness, you self-absorbed jerk!” Before he could remind his arm that it was a peaceful limb, it shot out from his side and hit Greg in the shoulder, sliding through the air until it made contact with the Altean’s scrappy uniform. Keith’s eyes froze in an owlish wideness, backing away as far as he could as Greg grabbed the sore part of his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean,” he started, ears curling inward as Greg’s head shot up. “I didn’t mean to shove you. I… I’m sorry. Nobody deserves that.” He paused, the air radiating with trepidation. Greg stepped forwards, and placed his hand on Keith’s shoulder, mirroring the place of injury.

Keith looked up to see that Greg had the expression of a gladiator who’d received an emaciated slave to battle with in his final match of the day; like _‘Are you serious?’_

“Um, I don’t know if anybody’s ever told you, but you have, like, the weakest arms in the Universe.” Greg paused to wipe a tear out of his shimmering ocean-like irises. “And besides, have you ever even read a romance novel? Plenty of people deserve to be hurt. There’s _always_ a villain who needs to get his-or _her_ , I’m not gonna assume anything- arse handed to him because he’s a total jerk. And then at the end, the dashing prince chops off his head with a sword that was forged by a dragon. Or something. Then, the prince and his lover run off together, uncertain about the future, but certain about their undying love, and…”

Keith faked a cough into his left palm, effectively interrupting the Altean. By now, both of them had brightly colored cheeks; although Greg’s red skin was interrupted occasionally by the dusty spots scattered across his face. Keith gulped, aware that anything he could possibly say at the moment would be utterly awkward and embarrassing.

“Are you implying that we’re in a love story?” he choked out. Greg’s hands flew up, spazzing sporadically in front of his face, and Keith once again began to feel the water in the air heat up, surrounding them in a thick blanket of moisture. “No!” Greg began. “No, no, no, of course not. Because that would be weird; I mean, you don’t even…” Greg shrieked suddenly, pulling out strands of his hair along with the some of Keith’s mental willpower. “No, definitely not. Uh, hey, like, do you like to read, because… Yeah?” he asked, nearly strangling his loose strands of hair as he tugged on them like a lifeline in deep space.

Keith trembled, grimacing tremendously in regret. _How many things was he going to add to his personal list of mistakes by the time they got out of this elevator?_ “I _do_ like to read, it _is_ a thing that I enjoy, I _have_ read before, and, yes, I plan on reading again, and, also, I brought a book with me, actually, because I thought you were going to be boring, or annoying, and you are, and,” he shook his head in befuddlement. “Gods, I really hate you,” he managed, sinking once again to the floor.

Greg laughed, following suit, and gently nudged Keith with his leg. “I can’t believe I asked you if you like to read. Of course you do. I should know. I only followed your every movement for the entirety of our time spent at the Garrison together.”  He sighed, releasing his hair from its terrifyingly strong grasp. “What did you bring? Maybe we can read it together to pass the time, since we’re kind of gonna be here for a while anyway.”

Keith shrugged, just… giving up, after that weird confession, and brought his bag to his chest; he then reached his gloved(fingerless, obviously) hand into its dark reaches, tugging out a small, old book that he’d brought with him from the academy. He wasn’t supposed to, but…

“Check it out, if you want,” he said, gently tossing the worn novel to Greg, who caught it with ease. The alien squinted at it, then gingerly lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath, sniffing in the redolence of consciousness trapped in the clutches of yellow paper. He smiled, then fingered through the pages with graceful poise, staring at the words for what felt like vargas to Keith.

“I’ve never seen this before,” he said at last.  “But probably because it’s written entirely in Galran. It sucks that you guys write differently than we do… really makes it harder for people to gain other-worldly perspective, y’know.”

 Keith rolled his eyes, gesturing for Greg to hand the book back to him. “I doubt you’d want to read this one, regardless of what language it was written in,” he replied, stroking the spine of the novel after picking it up; Greg had slid it across the floor. “It’s about a family that falls apart after a fire burns their city to the ground, leaving nothing for the individual members to hold on to besides each other. But soon they begin to realize that they never really cared about each other in the first place; and they join the army in search of a purpose that is pure and long-lasting.” Keith paused “You seem more like you’re the type of guy that would enjoy a happier ending; something stupid and unrealistically mushy.”   

The book sat still in his hands as he waited for Greg to answer; but the stranger was silent. Keith glanced towards the being, uncertain of what to say next. He opened his mouth to speak, but froze when the temperature of the room dropped by at least ten degrees. His eyes shifted to Greg, who was surrounded by a chilly fog; spikes of ice creeping out from below his feet; as though... as though he were the center of it all; the water; a pulsating constant of organic life... and, Keith thought, _really, really hot,_ despite being utterly frozen. “Greg,” Keith began, but halted when the being raised a shadowed hand to silence him.

“You’re right,” Greg muttered; his voice as cracked as shards of sleet on the pavement. “All I want is a happy ending.” His eyes were wide open, but he looked right past Keith, as though he wasn’t even there. “All I want is for everybody to be happy. I just want to be happy. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He moved lethargically, glazed gaze silently directing itself towards Keith. The young Galra made no sudden movements, staying as statue-like as he possibly could under the dark blue light of the room.

“Keith,” Greg said gruffly. He looked desperate. “I'm sorry for being all emotional and weird and stuff, but... can I hug you?”

"Uh..."

Keith lingered in his position on the floor, uncertain of how to respond to a request such as that. He hadn’t actually hugged anybody but SHR-10 since his mom had died, and even their hugs didn’t occur very often; but Greg seemed genuinely distressed.

 Maybe he could try... it wasn't like he was ever going to have to see Gregarioberto again when they finally got out of there. 

_//////_

 

_“Allura, wait!” he shouted, grinning to himself at the thought of his dubious travel-plans for later that night. “Don’t leave so soon! Hunk’s just about to bring out the danishes, right, Hunk?” he asked, making overt gestures in the direction of the young chef. The Altean in question stood up and feigned a bow, smiling all the while. “Of course, your majesties.” Hunk quickly ran off to the kitchen, leaving the sibling pair alone at the table together._

_Allura frowned, watching Hunk’s soft form until it disappeared. Then, she quickly turned to the prince, anger flashing across her delicate features. “No, Lance,” she snapped. “I’m too busy for tea-parties. Find a servant to play with, if you really desire companionship that badly.”_

_Lance frowned. “I’m not a kid, ‘Lura, I just want my sister to enjoy a meal for once.” He stepped forwards, gently grabbing her hand. “Please, just stay here for a little while longer. If not for you, would you do it for me?”_

_His sister shrugged his arm away, glaring at him with a hatred he never thought he’d see in her eyes. “Don’t you understand that everything that I do is for you, Lance?” she shrieked. “You’re a naïve fool, and you couldn’t possibly comprehend what I go through every day just to keep this planet running!”_

_Lance stepped towards her isolated figure, arms outstretched for an embrace, but she shrugged him off. His fingers curled inwards as he watched her walk away._

_“I comprehend more than you could possibly know,”  he whispered, letting his limbs fall down to his sides._

_/////_

Gregarioberto, the faux Altean guard, emotionally unstable stranger, and harbinger of elevator blizzards, was oddly warm. And squishy… but, firm, at the same time. All in all, it was a very weird experience. But weird wasn’t necessarily bad. _…No,_ Keith thought, as he snuggled into Greg’s squishy hold. _Weird definitely isn’t bad._

In all honesty, Keith wasn’t sure how long he was supposed to hold on for, and Greg was so distraught that he wouldn’t have let go if his life depended on it, so, when two patrolling Alteans discovered that the power had been disrupted in sector F of the floating coliseum, they found the two bodies in the elevator wrapped around each other, one snoring quietly, and the other with his hair sticking up in every direction. The most unusual part wasn’t that the two were young boys, Altean and Galran, or from competing schools, it was that, sleeping together, the two looked…

...Kind of happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to those of you who've made it thus far; I'm glad you've tolerated the story in its earliest phase(things are about to get much more exciting.) I appreciate all of your comments, and kudos, and the like!- Don't be afraid to ask questions if you have any, or to point out errors where you perceive them. Thanks again! (Also, if you don't know Voltron's vocabulary by heart by now, I'm afraid I can't help you.)


	5. Conempt for the Malcontent (I'm so sorry, I really wanted to see what would happen if I made the chapter title as long as it could be) BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voltron season 3 incorporates itself into the plot of the story, Lotor, Pidge, and Matt make more of an appearance, and Lance is psychologically tortured by the author. All fun times. (Also, Shiro, just like his televised counterpart, is missing.)

**AN/ *screams more with less fervor* I'm really quite sorry for the late update; thank you, oh patient ones. By the way, I’ve been somewhat worried lately that my lack of a Beta-reader is negatively affecting the quality of my work, so, if you see any mistakes, don’t hesitate to point them out.**

 

"I’m going to the garden, yeah, I’m just gonna walk in," a smooth voice chirped through the empty halls of the castle. Nearly everybody else was outside, or shoved into a tightly-packed room, performing some sort of high-maintenance task which required "the utmost degree of focus."  Even Lance had something to do(finally, he was getting really tired of being Allura's arm candy), and he was elated for it, singing to himself as he skipped across the carpet, stands of armor, and arbitrary murals, headed towards his family's ostentatious front gardens. "I'm gonna be cool and Allura will... uh, pool, into a... happy ball of tears, because I'm gonna rule, but not in a literal kind of way..."

 

After dying from anxiety and regret upon waking up tangled in a sleepy mess with Keith(and no, that wasn't intentional, thank you very much, Lance was _much_ smoother than that when it came to flirting with the loves of his life- er... Lance was going to have to do some serious reflecting in his diary when this was over), and running away before the guards who had found them together could recognize his position, Lance had revived himself on four slices of cake and a bath in a natural spring(that totally did wonders for his pores), just in time to notice a letter on his nightstand: an order to assist “ _the queen”_ (in fancy cursive letters) in the final preparations for the academic competitions which were to take place so (freaking) soon.  Besides the short and heartwarming message, all that was written on the golden slip of paper was a location: the Juniberry bushes.

 

Lance attempted to swallow down the feelings of ignorance which had graced him so tenderly all morning, but he couldn't help but think that he was missing out on something important; he was always left to his own devices these days. Even the palace staff barely spoke with him except to serve him and cater to his princely needs; well, Lance certainly had needs, alright, and the biggest one of them was to have a nice long chat with Allura when he saw her. He wasn't going to let her make up excuses this time; he was going to put his foot down. Heck, he'd freeze her into place if he had to.

 

With a newfound sense of confidence, the prince of Altea marched forwards, not wavering in the slightest until he was pushing through glowing orange bushes and stepping over newly planted beds of grass; head held high in hopes of spotting his sister, and, just maybe, the glow of the unbreakable bond between them.

 

////

 

“Moping” had been Keith’s go-to state of mind since he was barely two feebs old, but he was having difficulty concentrating on acting super depressed when he couldn’t even manage to stop smiling. He knew it was… wrong, to feel so joyful after the mysterious Altean had tricked him into following him to who-knows-where, into a section of the coliseum which had mysteriously lost power, and had ran away as soon as they were freed, before Keith had gotten to ask the hundreds of questions jingling around in his head, but Keith was a firm believer in three key principles. The first was that SHR-10 could be trusted with absolutely no reservations; the second was that there were definitely invisible winged humanoids crawling around in his dorm; and the third was that, despite what his peers said, or what the officers demanded, or what was absolute law, Keith should always trust his intuition.

 

And something about Gregarioberto (although his name wasn’t doing him any favors) seemed… okay; like he was a person Keith could talk to if the need were to arise. Of course, Keith would have to wait until his face was slightly less purple with giddiness if he wanted to find the boy again, but Keith’s interest had been piqued; Greg was a mystery; a new being, with new abilities, and new features; with new gestures, and with new words, and he was so... nice; a new type of person. And they had had a… bonding moment? Keith wasn’t sure what constituted as such, but he figured cradling another boy in one’s arms was a good place to start.

 

Keith pressed the cover of his book, the one Greg had touched, to his cheek, relishing in the cold of the material against his heated skin. A low hum escaped his lips, voicing the same tune that Greg had sung under his breath in the elevator. Here, in the dark quiet of a well- blocked-off supply closet, Keith was able to express himself to his content; unafraid, and contemplative. Not like he wasn't normally drowning in his own thoughts, but he never actually thought about _himself_ unless he was alone. Surrounded by the jeering faces of his fellow Galra, even if he wasn't talking, he felt as though he were on display.

 

**_-Bang!-_ **

 

Okay, scratch that being alone part.

 

"Who's there?" he demanded, letting the book slide into his lap. He was standing on the edge of a precipice; wavering between hiding behind a box, or throwing random objects until he hit whatever had made that noise. If only he knew which way to fall.

 

Another crash abounded from the corner of the small, enclosed space, and Keith decided on the latter option, figuring, in all honesty, that he was either being pranked by an angsty Galra teen, or murdered by an intergalactic mercenary. "Show-" a roll of paper towels hit the wall- "Your-" he threw a sponge, still wet- "Self-" his padded fingers wrapped around something cylindrical, a broom, and he swung. The broom flew through the air a few times without hitting anything, until it collided with a solid object somewhere to his left.

 

"Ow! Jesus freaking Christ on a stick of something painful," a feminine voice shouted. "For somebody who sings like a dying unicorn on ten cups of coffee, you're pretty freakishly strong." Keith swung again, this time only narrowly missing his target.

 

"Who are you?" he asked, paranoia and adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Why are you in the closet with me?" And what was a unicorn?

 

The same voice from before lifted in to high-pitched laughter, accompanied by softer giggles and snorts nearby. So there were two beings in here, and they both found his discomfort amusing. Keith cursed internally. He really wasn't feeling up to being beat up(for some reason) in a dark, desolate room where SHR-10 couldn't find him afterwards.

 

"Oh my god," the girlish voice wheezed out, each new round of laughter shooting another wave of terror through Keith's body.” Okay, don't hit me for this, but, come on: in the closet, Matt, he said 'In the closet.'" Furrowing his brows, Keith filed the name “Matt” for future reference, all the while slowly inching towards the door which connected the closet to the hallway.

 

The other being joined in with his own commentary shortly after, seemingly finding whatever the female had implied to be highly laughable. "We’re definitely not in the closet anymore, Pidge. I mean, did you see that Galra soldier? Damn."

 

Keith was even more confused. Why in the stars anybody would succumb to such an attack of laughter from as simple a statement as "in the closet" was beyond him, unless it was some sort of "inside joke," but he had more important things to do, like, escape said closet, for instance. Keith figured neither of them were Galra, as he didn't recognize their voices or names, and one of them had mentioned seeing a Galra soldier like it didn’t happen often, but they were still a potential threat.

 

He definitely wasn’t going to kill them(well, yeah, geez, he has principles), but he wasn’t going to stick around long enough to find out if they would give him the same kind of treatment.

 

"Maybe we should help him come out, Matt. Let's do it. Let’s help the aliens reconcile with their inner gays. For science." Keith stopped dead in his tracks, his thumping heartbeat growing into a steady beat of curiosity. The two foreign beings were becoming difficult to take seriously, at this point, although Keith was definitely intrigued by their strange vocabularies.

 

Forsaking his initial plan to escape, he spoke up, sufficiently interrupting their comedic banter. "What are you two talking about? What are you? Why are you here?” He attempted to put up a brave front, but the snorts still occasionally coming from the other end of the closet were incredibly off-putting.

 

“Yeah, yeah. You sure it’s not just because you’re a crazy shipping fan-girl?” the male spoke up, ignoring Keith entirely. “But, jokes aside, Pidge, we’ve got a mission to do, and we can’t let being closeted with an alien get us caught.” The… _Pidge,_ made a grunt of approval, and suddenly Keith was being pushed into a wall by tiny hands, and the door slammed open, allowing light to flood into the room.

 

Keith squinted at the two running figures; both were surprisingly short, in comparison to even him, with tan tufts of hair bouncing on their heads. They disappeared around a corner, and Keith realized, with a heavy sense of disappointment, that they were too far gone for him to catch up.  

 

What the… Was Keith some sort of target for strange beings?

 

If so, that would be… cool, actually, though it would be even cooler if they would stop _vanishing(_ looking at you, Greg _)_ before he could make any actual observations.

 

///

 

Generally, Lance was not a hateful person; he was a romantic with a heart as free-flowing as water. Even if he was occasionally teasing or taunting towards a friend, he almost _never_ disregarded any individual’s potential for greatness.

 

This, however, did not exempt him from occasionally dabbling in hate. He sent another harsh look towards the object of his frustration, making sure it was absolutely clear that he was doing his best to make her uncomfortable.

 

Honerva raised an eyebrow in his direction, a smirk pulling at the edge of her disgustingly sharp and chiseled face. Ugh!- she was _so_ … ugh. Lance was ready to tear his hair out; that was how far gone he was, but, instead, because he cared a lot about his hair, he settled for sticking his tongue out in retaliation.

 

When he had agreed to meet his sister in the lawn, he had expected a star-shattering explosion of love, understanding, and forgiveness to wrap itself around Lance and his sister, as they held onto each other tightly and spun around in the ever bright gaze of the suns, and warm, pink juniberry buds, laughing and sobbing and comforting and moving forwards with their ever-changing kingdom.

 

Instead, he had to deal with _this witch_ and his sister’s cold instructions to accompany her and her “scientist” to the colosseum for an _actual_ pre-competition lecture(sorry Keith, Lance really had no idea where he was going with that failed plan; he was almost lucky that the elevator broke down.)

 

Wait!- That was it! Lance smirked, and trailed across the fuzzy red carpet of the coach towards Allura, who was gazing wistfully out of the ship and across the small outline of their castle. “Hey sis,” he said quietly, resting his elbow on the window sill. “Guess who’s got totally important information?”

 

Honerva rolled her eyes, and Allura frowned, pulling her attention away from the building to meet his determined stare. Their eyes met, and Lance nearly drew back in fear upon the realization that, for the first time ever, her famed stony irises, known for the ability to shield her every thought from her competitors, advisors, and subjects alike, were closed off from _him._

 

They held their staring competition for a prolonged period of time before Allura tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and sighed. “Don’t, Lance,” she said, and, with that, she turned away from him, as though expecting him to accept her dismissal. But he wouldn’t; if not for his own sake, than for her’s.

 

“Seriously, Allura, there’s something going on in the coliseum that we should talk about,”  he urged, leaning closer to his sister.

 

Allura whipped around so quickly that Lance flinched, thanking the Stars that her hair was once again in a bun, and not loose enough to whip him in the face(like it had done many times before). “What?” she choked out. Her eyebrows were drawn into a heavy line of concern, and, Lance noticed, her shoulders were trembling with an unidentifiable emotion.

 

Oh, how he wanted nothing more than to drag her down to the bottom of the ocean in a warm cocoon of soothing sea-water, protected by a pocket of air, and watch the world swim by until they were both ready to breach the surface again, preferably in, like, nine-hundred decafeebs; how he wanted to drink tea, and laugh, and stomp in puddles and ponds; how he wanted to lift the weight off of her shoulders, undeniably stronger than his own, and crumble in her place so that she would smile at him instead of _this_ , _anything but this_ , but he stayed away, hoping that, when the opportunity came to cross the chasm between them, it wasn’t split too wide for him to reach the other side.

 

“Just…” he retracted his arm from its place near the window. “I heard that the power in certain sectors was going kind of crazy, like, maybe somebody was messing with it, or something. Somebody might be trying to interfere with your event. I’m… I’m kind of worried?”

 

A giggle from the far end of the bench sprouted, and Lance grew red, avoiding eye contact with his sister, and worrying that he’d said something wrong. Honerva stood up, a condescending smirk on her face, and walked towards the sibling pair.

 

“Please, little prince, I hope you aren’t joking. Well, of course you are. I mean, why would you tell us something we obviously already know about?” she asked, draping her arm- _WHaT-_ around Allura’s shoulder. Allura looked up at Honerva and smiled- _again, WHAT-_ , placing her hand on Honerva’s own.

 

She shrugged slightly at Lance’s clueless expression. “She’s right, you know. Where else would you have learned about the power malfunctions than from one of our castle’s staff, who would’ve heard it from my guards or myself? I keep tabs on everything that goes on in that ship, and I assure you, Lance, that we have _everything_ under control.”

He backed away, until his cape was flushed against the old, wooden interior of the coach, struggling to keep the temperature stable, and failing as shards of ice clung to the floor and the wall, effectively gluing him in his place(how ironic was it that he had thought of freezing Allura until she spoke to him only just this morning?) “But,” he said, struggling for words.

 

Honerva(what a hag!) waved him away with her hand. “Will that be all? The queen has a lot on her mind right now, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to disturb her.” Lance narrowed his eyes, centering in on the striking red pendant still wrapped around Allura’s frail neck.

 

“You know what, Hag-erva? You can go-”

  


/////

 

“-fuck yourself, Lotor, I’m… busy,” Keith shouted, as another set of dainty, passive-aggressive taps sounded from the other side of the door, growing louder and louder the longer Keith continued to pretend they didn’t exist.

 

It wasn’t that Lotor was always terrible company(though he usually was), it was that Keith had _finally_ managed to break through SHR-10’s techweb defences(what the heck kind of password was “ilovegrassitssoamazing353535” anyways?): the first step in finding a way to hack into the coliseum’s impressive technological setup. He was determined, after a long period of contemplation, to find out what those two aliens had been doing in the closet with him, and, maybe, even what Gregarioberto’s deal was.

 

“I demand that you open this door right now, Kogane. I have something of the utmost importance to speak with you about, and I do not take kindly to ignored.” Keith rolled his eyes; he himself “did not take kindly” to being threatened.

 

“What was that? I can’t... I can’t hear you,” he said, sliding his fingers across the surface of the techweb in an attempt to load a full-scale map of the building. He swore he could hear a muffled childish scream from behind the giant metal wall separating them; a feature of being on foreign territory that he didn’t completely hate. These doors didn’t use threcata-identifying technology to open. Instead, they just used… locks. He could get used to this kind of privacy.

  


The bangs halted.

 

“Keith,” Lotor began, a surprising amount of control in his perfectly steady voice. “We may not be on Daibazaal, but I’m still a prince, and I _will_ destroy you if you don’t stop acting like a loser and open the door. I need to speak with you.” He paused momentarily, as though actually expecting Keith to invite him into the room. “Please?” he asked.

 

Keith knew it probably took a large amount of willpower for him to resort to courtesy. “Fine,” he hissed, closing and tangling the wires of SHR-10’s techweb and sliding them under his bunk’s cozy mattress for later. He stomped reluctantly towards the door, slamming it open in the hopes of hitting Lotor in the face, but was disappointed to find that Lotor had anticipated such a move, and was standing two steps to the left, smiling eerily.

 

“What?” Keith asked.  

 

Disregarding the question, Lotor walked straight into Keith’s chamber, and found a comfortable place on the bed, before sighing, flipping his hair, and patting the space next to him. “Join me, won’t you?” he requested.

 

Aware that refusal would be futile, Keith plopped down on the far end of the squishy surface, crossing his arms defiantly in the process. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Lotor, as the young prince was characteristically both angry and unpredictable(perhaps they had bonded over such a similarity), but he was sure that he wasn’t going to like it regardless. “Well?” he asked, leaning forwards.

 

Lotor shook his head, gesturing for Keith to move towards him. “A little closer,” he insisted, baring his teeth in a pearly white grin.

 

Keith sighed. “ _You_ are the most annoying being in the universe. You know that, right?” He inched himself across the sheets until he was nearly touching hip with his… friend(?), close enough to hear his short, strained breaths, and close enough to tell that Lotor was _actually_ nervous about whatever discussion he was about to dive in to.  

 

Lotor winced, although a smile still graced his lips, and shifted his eyes directly onto Keith’s forehead. Keith knew that he only stared at that particular spot because he had been taught it would make him seem more authorative; both of them had learned intimidation tactics from the older generations of the Galra empire: all of whom shared a very similar mindset.

 

“My father seems to think so too. That’s what I wanted to speak to you about, actually.” The corner of his lips faltered. “After you tell me why you were found in a lift with some unidentified Altean.”

 

Anger took a hold of Keith much like Lotor himself had: completely. “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he spat, standing up. “You may someday inherit our planet, but that doesn’t make its citizens obligated to adhere to your every whim.”

 

A flash of something like betrayal showed itself in Lotor’s fists; clenching tightly at his words. “True… As that may be,” he muttered, “ I’d like to think we’re somewhat closer than the average citizen-ruler duo.” He extended his hand, an offer, and Keith frowned.

 

Sure, he supposed, they’d been… together, for… a while. But neither of them actually saw the other as more than an irritating convenience. Or, at least, that’s all that Keith saw in Lotor.

 

Feeling regret, per usual, pool up in his stomach, he took the prince’s hand, discernibly larger than his own, and yelped when he was tugged(he really should’ve seen that coming) straight down into Lotor’s lap.

 

He punched the alien lightly in the shoulder(that’s relatively peaceful… right?), and scrunched up his nose, hoping to convey blatant distaste. “Seriously, your _highness_ , what do you want to talk about?”

 

Lotor wrapped his arms around the smaller alien’s shoulders, tugging him closer to his chest. “I’m making a statement at the dinner tonight, and I want you to be a part of it.” Well, _that_ certainly wasn’t dubious at all.

 

“Could you be more specific?” Keith asked, groaning in frustration as Lotor tucked his chin into the crook of his neck. Keith had already known Lotor was full of hot air; he didn’t need Lotor breathing on him to prove it.

 

“My father is in no position to be proclaiming to the Galaxy that the Galra Empire is peaceful and accepting- not when he is the farthest from being such himself. That is his weakness: his inability to gain the favor of more... contemporary Galras. With so many beings against him, I can easily dissolve his standing; I can inspire a revolution against him, and take his place as ruler before his time is truly gone.” He nestled further into Keith, resting his jaw on the hybrid boy’s shoulders. “As you know, I have collected a group of elite Galra, unrevealed to the public, but known well just the same. They are respected as my counsel, my bodyguards, and my friends, yet nobody has ever seen them.”

 

“So? I wouldn’t put it past you to just use a falsity such as ‘counsel’ to cover up your own personal harem, or something,” Keith said, staring aimlessly at his hands, and wondering where exactly this was headed.

 

“So,” Lotor continued, though not without first twirling a lock of Keith’s hair between his fingers, and tugging at it harshly. “The public will be pleasantly surprised when I not only reveal that my most trusted is a group of female hybrids, much like yourself, from varying backgrounds, but that I have brought you to sit with me: the most puny of subjects. I will be seen as a friend of the people; an ideal paradigm of the most popular perspective.”

 

Keith furrowed his brows. “Are you… asking me to join your harem? In front of people?” Another sharp tug shot shivers down his spine.

 

“No,” Lotor whispered, pressing his mouth to Keith’s ear, directing all of his attention to the speech he was about to give. “I’m asking you to be my date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Vocabulary used in story that probably isn't familiar to you:  
> Tick-Second  
> Dobash-Minute  
> Varga- Hour  
> Quintant- Day  
> "Go to the gladiators"- Kind of like "go to hell" for Galras because of the massive gladiator fights that take place in their culture  
> "Dog-Face"- the best way to insult a cat  
> Threcata- DNA  
> "Stardense black"-pitch black  
> Decaleer-distance similar to a ten thousand miles  
> Leer- one thousand miles  
> Quiznack- can be used in the place of "fuck," but does not hold nearly as much weight  
> Mater- Galran word used in place of "mother"


End file.
